


Just Married

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Series: Star Wars fic [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The galaxy doesn't just stop for a newlywed couple, especially when they're Han Solo and Leia Organa, so they have to take their moments as they come...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Married

Some days, the good days, the Millennium Falcon feels like one large, cramped space, the tight, sloping captain's bunk a tangle of bumped heads and elbows, so Han and Leia always try to make due, get creative. Their entire lives have been lived in the pauses, in the long gasps for breath in between, and so they've learned to seize the moment. These situations create an odd sort of intimacy between them; they're together in heart and spirit all of the time, but when they come together physically, their surroundings allow them to explore one another, to find and take advantage of the things and places that send the other over the edge.

Their clothes are discarded first, carelessly; Leia had tried a striptease once, but Han had been too impatient, too ready. Leia’s long, luscious brown hair is a different story; he likes to run his fingers through it, to see it cascading across her bare, pale flesh in a glossy river, the curls breaking away and twisting against her milky skin, still clinging to the very last vestiges of baby fat in some places. He loves to grab hold of it, to see it run silkily over her slender backside as she crawls onto the surface of the checkered leisure table in the rec area. He stops her before she can turn herself over, falling to his knees, not caring that the metal grating of the floor is leaving red impressions in his rough hide.

He puts his large, warm hands on her hips, moves them smoothly down to her knees and up the insides of her thighs, urging her to open further to him, her calves brushing against his shoulders, down the sides, as he moves between her spread legs. He can see all the way from Kashyyyk to Corellia, her small breasts dangling in the two small points of her puckered nipples; her flat stomach; the soft, fine brush of hair between her legs; and, most of all, the sweltering cleft of her sex, coyly split open just a little by the parting of her legs, her taut clitoris and the velvety rimple of her inner petals. He blows on it first, his breath cool against her burning flesh, and he knows exactly the reaction this will provoke, but relishes the way she gasps anyway, the way her back arches and her behind lifts further into the air.

He uses his tongue first, teasing, tickling; licking in long, wet lashes from that swelling tip of her clit back to the place where her rump began. He kisses, sucks with a growing, greedy hunger, and is soon burying his face in her from behind. Her fingernails scrabble against the smooth surface of the table, making beautiful, discordant music that matches her jagged, unladylike moans, her hips swaying upward, rubbing her into him, delighting in the feeling of the rasp of his stubble in all of those sensitive spaces. He uses his fingers next, sliding easily in her sweet juices. He finds the spot inside of her and rubs it mercilessly, until she feels the world lurch and spin around her, her head trying to drop to the tabletop, to give her some relief from the relentless rapture that was overcoming her.

And now the world is turning over as he stands and takes hold of her waist, guiding her over onto her backside, her hands reaching behind her to grasp the edge of the table, her knees tucking neatly into his armpits as his the tip of his thick cock brushes against her belly, hard as velvet-sheathed steel and more than horizontal, only its weight keeping it from standing straight against his own firm, muscled stomach. He lets it slide against and stroke her skin as he leans forward to suckle and pinch her breasts between his lips and teeth until she is panting, one hand around his neck and the fingernails digging into the tough flesh there, leaving little red ruts. Her hips hitch upward, watching his manhood bump and bob against her tummy.

Their mouths entangled, his big hands touching her everywhere, caressing her elegantly shaped figure, as he enters her, slowly, slowly, so slowly; inch by inch he comes forward and then pulls back, again and again, until he is fully buried in her maddeningly tight, silken holster, her wetness, her desire for him, making it a recklessly smooth ride as he pumps her. He fits inside of her as if he were born to be there, created and shaped just for her; his girth stretches her just enough to make it more pleasurable for both of them, causing such agreeable friction and a frenetic, passionate suction. The slight upturn of his shaft ensures that he hits the sweet spot inside of her with each thrust, rubbing against it, bumping it with the burgeoning head of his cock.

They cling to one another, kissing eagerly, fervently, feverishly as they find their rhythm, familiar yet still so satisfying, a dirty sort of grind that launches both of them to new and soaring heights. She reaches her climax first—he always ensures that she does—gripping and clenching around him, her muscles undulating and milking him like a fist; he can feel that little spout of musky liquid that means he has truly pleasured her, followed by the eruption of her hot, slick juices coating his manhood and the tight, bulging sac beneath. And now his own orgasm slams into him at hyperspeed, and he plumbs the depths of her womb with his white-hot seed.

Afterward, they kiss tenderly, lovingly, afterglow settling around them softly, Leia pressing herself into Han’s brawny chest, the coarse hair gently abrading her tingling body, from swollen nipples to raw, contented sex. “Your Highnessness,” he says, the deep, dark seriousness in his eyes beginning to melt away, replaced with that cocky, swaggering smugness that both made her love him and made her want to sock him on the jaw.

“Nerf herder,” she replied, pursing her mouth to stop the smile that wanted to spread across her plump pink lips, making her look more stern than she had intended. She wouldn’t trade these moment for anything in the galaxy, not even the opulent honeymoon suite that awaits them on at the Republic Palace Coruscant. He pulls his trousers on, watches with a grin as she slides his shirt on over her head, pulling that tempting wave of chestnut hair through the neckline; the hem hangs to her knees.

Chewie growls a comment as Han takes a seat in the cockpit, fastening the crash webbing around him. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “I know I stink of sex. Just land the ship, will ya?”


End file.
